


University Years

by RachelEmberLee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Bisexual John Watson, Eventual Johnlock, Jealous Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings, Unilock, genderbent Mary Morstan, pining without knowing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 01:38:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5438717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RachelEmberLee/pseuds/RachelEmberLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is attending university. He doesn't see the point, really, but it's a good way to get away from his family and see what he already knows. The classes are simple, really, and Sherlock is more often doing experiments and deductions than his actual homework, which he usually was able to finish in class.</p>
<p>John Watson is attending university. It would be a good way to get something done, he decided, and he had always wanted to be a doctor. At first, though, he didn't put too much effort into his classes or homework, coming home late and immediately going to bed. By his second semester he decides to do better.</p>
<p>Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are roommates in their dormitory, and John is not quite sure he'd ever get used to Sherlock's antics, and if they were considered friends.</p>
<p>**TITLE SUBJECT TO CHANGE*</p>
            </blockquote>





	University Years

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Sherlock fic, and Johnlock fic, so please be gentle! This also happens to be my first fic on AO3.

“Wrong,” a voice came from right over John’s shoulder.

John jumped, his laptop nearly falling out of his lap. He had to slam his hands down on the keys to prevent it from landing on the floor. “Christ, Sherlock!” Sherlock’s bob of curly dark hair was right next to him, with Sherlock’s clear eyes scanning the paper John happened to be typing up. Sherlock was close, John realized, a lot closer than usual.

John Watson and Sherlock Holmes had been roommates ever since their first year of university. At first, John hadn’t really paid attention to his roommate – going out nights and having classes during the day, coming back to their dorm at midnight and falling asleep almost immediately in his favorite chair. By their second semester, though, when John decided to pull himself together for the sake of his grades, he would notice Sherlock reading a heavy book, or setting beakers up on the table. John would occasionally ask a question and Sherlock would roll his eyes, and give hints alluding to the answer. John wasn’t quite sure whether or not they were friends, but kept his doubts to himself.

Sherlock pulled away and turned to fix a beaker that had been wobbling dangerously near the end of the table. “It’s Pasteur, not Pastor, he was a microbiologist, not a doctor. He was born in 1822, not 1828,” he listed off, before rounding the table to look more closely at his experiments.

John cast a quick glance at his laptop screen before looking back at his roommate. “Any reason why you were so close?”

“I was only checking up on your paper. It’s due tomorrow.”

John glanced at the small calendar at the corner of his screen. “Yeah,” he muttered in some realization. He settled his laptop back on his knees and fixed the errors Sherlock had mentioned. He glanced up to notice Sherlock looking at him curiously for a few moments, before picking up a test tube and taking a whiff of the odor before making a face and writing something down in his notebook.

Pretty soon it was starting to get late. He saved his paper and went to bed, deciding to print his page in the morning.

“Good night,” Sherlock’s voice comes from the couch, where Sherlock is reading another large book.

John is almost caught by surprise; Sherlock usually ignores him whenever he leaves the room to go to sleep. “Night, Sherlock,” he replied before entering his room. John was too tired to change into his pajamas, so he crawled into bed and was out like a light.

When John left his room the next morning, showered, dressed, and wide awake, Sherlock looked up from the newspaper. It looked almost as if he had not moved from the spot. “Good morning,” Sherlock says, returning his gaze back to the newspaper. “I printed your paper for you. It’s on the table.”

John raised an eyebrow and made his way over to the table. “How did you get into my laptop?” he asked, picking up the clean sheets in the perfect format – something John had forgotten to do.

“You had an extremely easy password,” Sherlock only replied, before flipping the page. But he glanced at John quickly, too quickly for John to really notice.

John only shook his head and rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t annoyed by Sherlock’s actions. “Thanks anyway. Oh, and I probably won’t be back till late. Rugby practice and a date.”

“I know,” Sherlock said simply, keeping his eyes on the newspaper. He did not look up until John left, and then he put down his newspaper and stared hard at the door.

John brought his date back to the dorm around midnight. It was like Sherlock never slept, John thought, as Sherlock was sitting in the same spot as when he left. “Did you even go to class today?” John asked, his hand gently on his date’s back.

“Of course I did,” Sherlock said, glancing over at the date quickly, and John already knew that he was analyzing.

“Sherlock,” John said in a warning tone; but it was too late, Sherlock had stood up and stepped forward, like a shark closing in on his prey.

“You lived in North America until you were eleven, when your parent got a new job and your family moved straight to London. You were subsequently shipped off to boarding school, where you stayed until you were in your late teenage years,” Sherlock started, and the date’s eyes darted from Sherlock to John, and back again. “Very soon after there was a death in the family, but you didn’t mourn your father, really, you were almost glad to be rid of him. You thought he was rather controlling.”

“Sherlock,” John tried again, but Sherlock kept right on rolling through his deductions.

“You registered for university late and therefore got in late, in which you have seemed to try to attach yourself to the first person you saw, which happened only to be John. You don’t like sports. Below average intelligence. You rather… like toying with the boys. You’re not even sure you’re very interested in John; he was the first person you saw. You’re interested in someone else.”

“Sherlock!” John said, frowning at his roommate. His date had let go of John’s arm and she had ran out of the dormitory. John sighed, and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Must you always do that?” A few weeks after they started to speak to each other more, Sherlock would often judge anyone John attempted to date and scared them off. This deduction was rattled off with a little more venom, though, and that didn’t quite make sense to John.

“I’m only trying to help you ‘weed through the bad ones’, as people tend to say,” Sherlock said, turning his coat collar up and making his way towards his room, but John stopped him by grabbing his arm. Sherlock almost flinched but kept his cool, closed off face as he turned his head to look at John.

“Stop doing it. I can figure things out by myself, you know. I don’t need you to run off each and every potential relationship.” There was fire in John’s eyes, but it seemed a bit dull.

“As you wish,” Sherlock said, bowing his head and pulling free of John’s grip. He entered his bedroom and closed the door after it.

Over the next few days, John gave Sherlock the cold shoulder. It visibly bothered Sherlock, but just barely. You could see it if you watched him closely. John would be watching the telly, or working on a paper for class. Sherlock would be looking over his shoulder, but at a distance. He’d mention something but get no response from John. Soon Sherlock just looked like he was watching John from afar.

John eventually let his anger go. He sighed and glanced over at Sherlock, who he caught looking but had looked away. “Could you help me on my chemistry class?” John asked, and while Sherlock’s face did not show anything, the bounce in his stride certainly did. He was glad that John’s silent treatment was over.

After a few weeks John brought another date home. Sherlock couldn’t help but look over. His eyes scanned the young man standing next to John, and then looked at John. If eyes could verbally speak, they’d be saying “Don’t do anything.”

The young man that John had brought back was Mark Morstan, who had short, blonde, neat hair that said there was no funny business to be had. He had sharp, blue eyes. John had once brought Mark Morstan over, but he had quickly left when he had heard Sherlock’s reputation. It never gave Sherlock a chance to analyze him.

But now Mark was standing tall and meeting Sherlock’s gaze, waiting, it almost seemed, for the inevitable. Braving the oncoming storm that was sure to come his way.

But Sherlock saw nothing wrong with this Mark fellow, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they would have already started dating if it were not for him. So Sherlock decided to act mature, squaring his shoulders and offering Mark his hand. Mark looked surprised and glanced at John, but then turned back and shook Sherlock’s hand. “He’s a good match, John,” Sherlock said, only sparing a quick glance at his roommate before sitting back down on the couch. “A perfect match.”

John glanced between the two men in surprise, and let a smile come to his face. He and Mark go to the kitchen, where they have a sort of deep discussion before Mark needs to leave. Sherlock had gone back to his book. He was staring at the same page he had turned to, for twenty minutes, before John and Mark had arrived.

“What’s on the telly?” John said conversationally, making his way to the couch to grab the remote.

“I wouldn’t know,” Sherlock answered, putting his book down without bookmarking his place.  This caused John to look up and see Sherlock rummaging through that long coat of his, pulling out two things: a lighter and a pack of cigarettes.

“When did you start smoking?” John asked, surprised. Sherlock didn’t look at him and didn’t answer. He just only stepped outside, so John followed him curiously, and asked again.

“Oh, it’s just something I do occasionally,” Sherlock answered, not meeting John’s eyes.

John raised an eyebrow and pointed at the package. “Doesn’t look occasionally,” he said. “The package looks new and it’s nearly empty.”

Sherlock did one of those quick, rare smiles that usually disappeared within a few moments. “Brilliant deduction, John Watson.” He then turned away and lifted the cigarette to his mouth and attempted to light it.

“Those aren’t good for you, you know,” John said, frowning a little.

“I’m aware,” Sherlock answered, ignoring John’s gaze. He finally lit his cigarette and took a long drag, blowing the smoke into the air.

John watched Sherlock for a few moments. “Is there something bothering you?” he asked.

“Not anything I can think of,” Sherlock answered, and spoke no more. He didn’t answer John’s additional questions and statements, and eventually John went back inside, shaking his head. Sherlock only took another drag of the cigarette he held between his fingers.


End file.
